


The Crucial Defect

by Mythology1



Category: La Cité des Enfants Perdus | The City of Lost Children (1995)
Genre: Existential Angst, F/M, Kidnapping, Murder, Revenge, Terminal Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-07
Updated: 2016-03-07
Packaged: 2018-05-25 07:12:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 6,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6185458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mythology1/pseuds/Mythology1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Krank's inability to dream is killing him. He and his fellow artificial beings race to find a cure as his past comes back to haunt him in more ways than one. What depths will he not descend? Will this tale turn to tragedy or have a happy end? This is about the film City of Lost Children, focusing on the designated antagonist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The gradual deterioration of Krank's body was beginning to take its toll. At times, the stricken pain in his bones made even simple movement debilitating. Like when he had been busy with putting together a new machine, the sudden searing pain in his spine nearly elicited a cry from him as his labors were halted. The others paused. Martha drifted with an air of maternal concern to his side. Krank pretended he was fine, certain he was fooling no one.  
He left much of the physical labor to the kids now. They probably thought of him as an indolent tyrant who forced all the hard work on his abused underlings. They wouldn't believe that the growing weariness that plagued him was sapping away whatever strength he formally had. To them, Krank was the sovereign leader of their world, incapable of mortal conditions such as weakness.  
If only that were true.  
Martha was the only one close to accepting the reality of his impending mortality, with a reassuring "don't worry" attitude in stride. Irving was fully aware, as always. The infernal parasite took great pleasure in reminding Krank of his approaching destruction. As a soulless parody of life, it could hardly be considered a loss. There were even times when Krank kept on just to spite him.  
If Krank had his way, that disgusting brain would have been thrown overboard the first day of his life. But as much as he hated to accept it, the dying scientist needed the disembodied mind.  
Irving knew that too, all too well.

"Uncle" Irving surely harbored the secret to his salvation, but kept it to himself. His unspoken words were his cards in a game of petulant superiority that Krank did not have the time to play.  
Carefully controlled rage simmered beneath the unaffected façade as he thought of the occasions when the brain had taken advantage of his desperation.  
When he could no longer deny what was happening to him, Krank reluctantly reached out for help.  
The creator was gone (he had seen to that). Martha told him of how Professor Dominic had placed him in the dreaming machine when he was first created, motivated by an unwillingness to wait for his intellectual companion to age naturally. Like with many things, he had been mistaken. But this mistake had malign consequences.

"Irving?" Krank inquired, trying to sound polite and not too helpless, "You know all about feelings. Won't you try to help me? Won't you explain why all those children only have nightmares?" Krank was convinced that only the dreams of the pure beings could banish the deadly dreamlessness that afflicted him.

"Because you are their nightmare. You can persecute all the children in the world, but you will never have dreams, or a soul." The perpetually bored voice droned, restating a cruel fact he was fond of touting.

This struck a painful chord, forced politeness be damned. "You believe you have one? You don't even have a body. The one who created us made us all monsters!" The dying man was so tired of being told time and time again that he was less valid than a human, or a severed part in a fish tank.

"No, you're wrong. You are the only monster here."

"He's the one responsible for all this! I'm innocent!" Krank could not keep his voice or anger steady. Soul or not, he would let this forsaken fate he had been confined to end so soon.

 

After Uncle Irving had directed him into the dreaming device, to connect himself to the current child test subject, Mishinka heard a slight pop! as he exited the seat.

"What's that?" he asked, starting to dread the sure punishment "A fuse blew!"

"Perfect." The worried clone did not hear Irving's utterance. "Be careful, or someone will hear you. Now, throw this message...uh, bottle into the sea. "

"But what about the-"The uniformed man began

"Never mind that, child! Just do it."  
Mishinka did as he was told, removing the extracted dreams that were contained with the large vile. With uncertain obedience, he dropped the heavy jar into the waves beneath the balcony.  
"Now go on." With a nodded smile, the worker left the lab.

"May someone find my plea and get it over with..."


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Absence gives way to painful light

Darkness and whispers were what formed the time before his awakening. Whispered words and images in his head that were being thought for him. The voice was unheard but clear, as were the images that preceded sight. While his body was forming, his mind was actively absorbing the definitions, equations, and formulas that silently bombarded it. The gestational period was endless, yet concluded in the blink of an eye, so much like the dreamless sleep that would plague his waking years.

Then there was nothing. The barrage of information had ceased. A little voice began to breach the empty void. A real voice that was distant and fragile.  
"…about waking him. When you're only one of the things in his dream, you know very well you're not real"

The darkness parted to reveal a faded, murky green. The first thing he was aware of was that voice as he tried to find the source of it. He felt something large and hard preventing him from turning his head. A spastic trickle of energy coursed through his previously numb hand. To the left of him, with newfound, irresolute motion in that confined space, he reached out, weakly, until his palm touched the thick barrier

(plastic? glass?)  
There was a gasp and the voice stopped, then a long pause. He placed his hand at his side again, thinking the external stimuli would return. Waiting. The voice was back, but there was something else. Another muffled sound that was a little lower. Listening to those two mingling sounds, words like 'frantic' and 'exited' came to mind.

His mounting anxiety reached its denouement as the solid green force-field slowly rose from sight, replaced by intense light. Once again he was blinded, but by searing white, he closed his eyes.  
"Poor deary. Is there something wrong?" the high, nearly squeaking, voice chimed with worry. 

He opened his eyes to see part of something (an arm) very close. The thing that gripped his skull in place started to move and hum. Increasingly alarmed, his own arm lifted weakly to stop the source of the movement, grasping at the nearby appendage.  
"No, no! No need to be scared! Just removing this contraption!" his grip around the forearm loosened and within seconds the constricting helmet was removed, leaving his head exposed but unencumbered.

Without thinking, with his hands gripping the edges of the half-opened sarcophagus, he lifted himself into a sitting position off his back. Someone placed a hand on his chest that kept him from going further.  
"Whoa, now! You don't want to be doing that!" Stopped by the strident command, he actually saw for the first time.  
Metal, pipes, wires, so many details. To his left was what attracted his attention most. From a lying position, the person could not have been seen. She (automatically, his mind reached for the title) was very small and delicate looking. She was wearing some sort of green material. Her large eyes started back at him. She smiled at him.  
Though the meaning of this slight facial change was lost to him, he felt a muscle in his jaw twitch in unknowing imitation. He turned to the clamoring noises in the other direction. A cylindrical device shined more light into his eye, nearly closing them again.

"Oh right! Iris too dark to really see the pupil contract.

"Don't blind him again!" her voice grew louder with concern

"I'm checking to see if he IS blind!"  
The woman handed the other similarly-dressed person a pile of things. With the exchange of whispers, she walked over to the other side of the room.

"There! You can come out now!" it said, smiling with barely concealed anticipation  
In a slow, swaying fashion, he carefully climbed out of the device, taking his first quaking steps to do so.  
The floor was hard and cold. He stood in front of the (man) who was smaller now, with his face level with His chest.  
"Hm." The short man's eyebrows were raised, with the corner of his mouth stretched an inch.  
"You came out taller than I expected."  
Like with every being born, shame did not come naturally. He didn't see why the man looked slightly puzzled or why the woman stood patiently away with her back to him.  
The man held up a pile of folded cloth and placed them in His arms. "Here! See if you can put these on" As he studied the garments (brown and segmented, unlike the lab coats the others wore) the complexity became an exercise of simplicity. In an act of vacant concentration, He put on and buttoned up the pants, shirt, and jacket. His feet were still bare.  
"Welcome to life!." The man said, grabbing His hand and vigorously moving it up and down. "My name is Professor Bismuth, but you can call me Dominic. I am your creator." The high-voiced man had light brown hair and a smile that made him appear younger than his forty years. He gestured to the little woman "and this is my wife Martha," The tiny, black-haired woman, who looked around the Professor's age, came up to the above His hip-bones. His arm was nearly longer than her entire body. Looking up at him with her big (blue) eyes, she reached up and took his motionless arm, her tiny hand wrapped around his thumb, while her hand disappeared in his grasp. He felt comfort recede his uncertainty. He summoned up his first attempt at communication

"If those are your names, what is mine?" the sound that came from him was deeper than theirs and hoarse from non-use.  
"Oh yes! How could I forget?" Dominic exclaimed, smiling again as he considered. "There is one that has been floating around my brain for a while. I think I'll call you Krank.

 

Krank's first few hours of consciousness after the physical (how he had gaped as the syringe filled with the red liquid of his veins) were spent gaging his comprehensive skills while he gave curt responses to basic questions, like "What comes after P? What is 2+3?" that grew more complex, but were answered with as much ease. Afterwards, he was shown the expanse of the cramped, but multi-floored residence. After a while, he was brought to the larger lab.

"Krank, this is Uncle Irving"  
He looked around and saw no one. A circle of sophisticated machines and beakers, and a glowing tank, but no other person. The new man was still looking about, puzzled, when he heard the disinterested voice. "Professor, if your goal was to create a lesser life form to assuage your ego, well done"  
"Now Irving! Be nice!" Krank heard Martha scold as he lowered himself down to get a closer look.  
The source of the criticism was the small, wheeled tank full of radioactive verdant liquid encompassing a severed organ (a brain). At the front of it was a built-in camera and some speakers.  
The logical absurdity widened Krank's eyes with a confusion that caught him off guard.

"How is this possible?" he could hardly summon the words.

"It is a complex process" Dominic said, as though that provided an answer.

"How are YOU alive?" The disembodied voice inquired, growing more and more condescending and irate. "I was made just as you were."

"But…" Krank spoke, hesitantly addressing the brain for the first time. "You have no body. No mouth or vocal cords to speak with. How can you be talking?"

"Well, how can you speak when you CLEARLY don't have a brain? If you don't THINK, then you shouldn't TALK, you insolent worm"

"Now boys, you best stop that at once" The professor sounded, trying to be stern while holding back a laugh. Before Krank could react, he was being lead out of the room. "Come now! There's much to see!" When they were far from Irving, Krank, feeling like a dull child muttered  
"…I have a brain, don't I?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Realization comes and changes are made.

For a handful of years, life was tolerable. The human and his created equal spent their days on medical and technological inventions. With Krank's help, many inventions were completed and perfected. The former oil rig that made up this sanctuary was one dedicated to the endless pursuit of knowledge. Irving's faint hostility never changed ('He'll get used to you",the professor had wrongly assured). The isolation was pierced by rare ventures to the far city across the miles of sea. Though Martha could sew and cook anything, provisions were still needed from time to time. As thanklessly Krank moved the oars of the small boat, Dominic warned of the dangers of the outside world, ones he had experienced first–hand. Caution was always heeded to as they searched the shops that bordered the cramped cobblestone streets. Krank was amazed to see that there were more humans (they're everywhere, like rats) and how the sterile labs contrasted with this dirty, dimly lit place.

The Professor went on about how the world had changed since he was a child. How the smoke from all the factories had tainted the air and obstructed the sun, so there was no longer daylight, only endless night.  
Krank had let his mind and body wander away from Martha when she had released his hand to inspect some fabric. Even in the stale, biting air, it was nice to be anonymous, free of ever-studying eyes. Rickety automobiles, starved animals, and displaced vagrants all passed through his line of sight. But what drew him in most was the small crowd that had gathered under a streetlamp, bound together by a thunderous sound.

The nondescript clothing (like what he had first been given) that Krank wore enabled him to pass through the cluster of bodies unnoticed, his extreme narrowness making it easy to slip by them.  
"-and so the creator sent me down to earth, to recover the power that men have illegally seized! " Krank adjusted the cap that covered the itching start of his inky hair to see an aged man in robes standing on a box, his arms raised, as the light caught his pale, pupiless eyes.  
" We must fight human beings! Be strong! Our great, superior race shall reign once more on earth! Brothers, renounce the gift of sight! I know there are those among you afraid to share with us the dead of night! Be brave! Renounce your gift! Pluck out your eyes and join us! Help us create a better world"

As Krank withdrew from the group and advanced towards the docks, uneasy thoughts cut him off from his squalid surroundings. When does abnormality end and inhumanity begin? Feeling incomplete and rejected, these blind men claimed separation from the race they had been born into. For the first time, Krank felt the yawning absence that made him as innately crippled as the sightless humans. When he found the boat with the harried Dominic and Martha waiting, no peace of mind came.

 

Over time, relationships change. With Martha, the Professor's first creation, was a bond to be expected from the first two of a species. Little acts of hers, when she held his hand or took his measurements or blood, always brought about uncomfortably strong feelings that Krank could not identify, sensations that were pervasive but not entirely unpleasant. Just the sight of her cherubic face or a trace of her perfume made it difficult to focus on anything else. The scientist was sure that these thoughts crossed the boundaries of parental caring, and that they were mutually felt.

Krank and Dominic, united by their knowledge but divided by personality, were so very different. The ambivalence that marked their 'friendship' grew deeper with every passing day.  
Dominic was blathering on about something while they worked (with Krank trying to concentrate on something, anything, else) when he began his new sentence with  
"I think I found the answer to our little problem. In came to me in a dream last night, it was so obvious!"  
Krank turned to him as the other man's ramblings continued. "What did you say?"  
Dominic momentarily halted his wild gestures. "What?"  
"What is a dream?"  
"Dreams? You know, the visual thoughts you have when you're asleep" The cheerful man looked at his colleague, expectantly awaiting the conclusion to a joke. But his smile faltered. Krank was never the joking sort, and the almost pained look of confusion on his face was genuine. As always, he was serious.  
"…it's something everyone has. I'm sure you just don't remember them. It's normal to forget them when you wake up." Dominic said, his smile subdued by reflection.  
Krank watched with dawning suspicion as the man turned back to his experiment. There was something hesitating, almost furtive, about the man's reaction.  
There was nothing to remember. Sleep was always an instant of nothing.  
If there was something wrong with him, like he had always known, who would be more aware than the one who formed him from scratch? The seeds of mistrust, already planted, were now blooming in the clandestine dark


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Starting over

After the bastard had been disposed of, Krank began to scour through the creator's notes, searching for beneficial information. His vision was partially obscured by the bandage around his right eye (where the panicking little man had broken a beaker) that added to the difficulty of deciphering the dead human's cramped, curling script. Amid the hastily scrawled scientific epiphanies and half-baked theories were the ramblings of a desperately lonely man. Dominic's years worth of journals were the most tedious, yet helpful data his search unearthed. But Krank found any research regarding him to be too succinct to be useful. His making went largely unrecorded.

November 7, 1877,  
He has surpassed even my wildest expectations. I anticipate a day when he will know more than I ever could, at the rate his mind is developing. Krank (as I have decided to call him) is a bit sickly looking, but internally healthy. He is as grim and austere as an old preacher. He has not once smiled or laughed at any of my jokes or anything else. He's so unlike Martha. But, I'm sure he'll warm up eventually.

Krank unsure whether to be offended or amused, continued through the entries until he reached the last written page.

April 16, 1881,  
I thought it was a stage of mental adolescence that would pass. But every day, the more I look into those hollow eyes, the more hatred I see. The arguments have increased in frequency and volatility. He's so much more disagreeable, so very ungrateful for all I've done for him. Unfortunately, I am starting to think my greatest creation was a mistake. I am uneasy around him now. I hope for the best, that this friendship can be mended. If not, it means the end of one of us. God help me.

Krank smiled. The professor had been afraid of him. The fearful shine in his eyes had not been a wistful trick of light. As time passed the human had grown unbearably insufferable. His condescension, growing more blatant with every argument, had been the greatest source of ire for Krank. He would not get down and worship the man like a god, owner, or father for giving him a life he had never asked for. With him and his domineering interference gone, Krank could at last focus on the dreamless disease that consumed him.

 

It wasn't so bad living without a past. Some people were so overburdened by them. With no one else around, he didn't need memories, or even a name. If his mind denied him access, there must have a fair reason behind it. At least, this was what the Diver told himself on good days. His current life had begun when he had awoken on the floor of the submarine, drenched and aching in every place. He knew that he had nearly drowned trying to get in, and that he had surrendered to unconsciousness once he hit the floor. Some of the water that dripped from his head, the epicenter of the pain, was thick and red.  
Now he was a treasure hunter, discovering history thought to be lost under the sea forever. Collecting and cataloguing his discoveries gave him a purpose, a sense of productive joy that kept the burdensome thoughts away. But the horrors buried deep within, rotting just under the surface like the corpses he came across beneath the murky depths, began to reveal themselves. As the years passed (5, 6, 7, he couldn't tell) his only recollections came to him in brief, fearful flashes.  
It's dangerous up there, he wants to kill me. The Devil wants to kill me…


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Celebration, unwelcome or not

"Ready, children?" the little woman said as she happily looked around the table to the six identical faces. There was a massive cake heavily-clad in frosting and candles at the table's center. "Not you, you've got a cold."  
"Happy birthday, Uncle Irving!" they simultaneously shouted.

"A cake for me? You're really too kind." The preserved organ, sounding faintly pleased, was content to watch the festivity with reserved interest.  
Suddenly, a cold breeze blew the candles out. They all turned, except for the clone that had fallen asleep, his face caught by the cake. Martha arose to great Krank, who, clad in his dressing gown, stood forbiddingly in the doorway.  
"What is all this bellowing about?" His stern gaze drained the smiles from their faces and the cheer from the room. As his condition worsened, the prematurely old man always seemed on the verge of irritation. The clones all looked around, unsure of how to act in the wake of a potential hurricane.

The creator had decided to add more "artificial humanoids" to his collection, with Krank able to witness and assist in a creative process similar to his own. With the mixture of mitochondrial genetic material, the six specimens would be Dominic and Martha's biological children, progeny that would grow to be exact copies of their father. All the more reason to abort them. After brief consideration, his natural scientific curiosity (and his adamant new wife) persuaded him to see them to term.  
Over the years, Krank often lamented the decision. He names them all Mishinka to avoid further confusion. They all looked just as The Professor did when Krank first met him, making it difficult to look at them without violent thoughts resurfacing. The little idiots had all of his annoying enthusiasm and none of his redeeming intelligence. Their genetic short-coming was almost the reverse of the sickness that afflicted their predecessor. Each would periodically fall into random bouts of sleep (not all at once, thankfully). But this shared narcolepsy did not affect their health .The minor inconvenience did not thwart their dreams or further age them. It all added to a resentment that was given plenty of opportunities to show itself.

"But Sweetheart, it's Irving's birthday." His wife said, looking up at him with no fear, only the indulgent pleading of an impartial matriarch.

"Irving's birthday?" They practiced this ridiculousness instead of working, as though nothing were at stake. "Why of course, how could I have forgotten?" Krank could not keep the anger from seeping in. "Let us celebrate, let us all make merry! Everyone, let's shout! Scream out!"he turned on his heal to leave, not wanting any further provocation.

"Krank, come back." Irving's voice followed him down the hall. " I had a thought last night. If the children only have nightmares, perhaps it is because the evil is in YOU. Why not seek the cause of you torment in the molecular study of your own tears?"  
Krank stepped back into the room, authentic concern trickling through the enforced indifference. "What could make me cry?"

"I know! I Know! "One Mishinka excitedly cried "We could make you cry with laughter! I'm a gnome, a bag of bones, a-"

"Silence!" Krank's tolerance for foolishness decreased with every idiotic word.

"You mustn't be angry."Martha implored "Your brothers are doing their best".

Krank sat down beside the sleeping clone, gripping a handful of hair to lift his head out of the cake. "My brothers?" he scoffed indignantly, letting the childish man's head fall back into the sugary mess. He refused to even entertain the idea.

"May I give it a try?" The celebrated brain said, oddly eager.

"Go ahead, Mollusk. " Krank spat.

"Once upon a time, there was an inventor so gifted...that he could create life. A truly remarkable man"

"Ah, a fairy tale. I can already feel tears in my eyes" Krank said, sardonically weary.

"Since he had no wife or children...he decided to make them in his laboratory.

"He started with his wife and fashioned her...into the most beautiful princess

in the world. Alas, a wicked genetic fairy cast a spell on the inventor...so much so that the princess was only knee-high to a grasshopper. "  
Martha's expression grew pensively sad as she listened.

"He then cloned six children in his own image. Faithful, hardworking, they were so alike...no one could tell them apart. But fate tricked him again, giving them all sleeping sickness". Gathered around the tank as they listened, the "children" looked about, almost oblivious of who was being mentioned.  
"Craving someone to talk to, he grew in a fish tank...a poor migraine-ridden brain."

"And then, at last, he created his masterpiece...more intelligent than the most intelligent man on Earth. But, alas, the inventor made a serious mistake. While his creation was intelligent, he, too, had a defect. He never, ever had a dream."

Krank paused, a strange feeling emerging.

"You can't imagine how quickly he grew old...because he was so unhappy." The brain's tone was dripping with disdain, growing more cheerfully malicious as he continued his tiraded tale.  
He could not stop the queer sensation welling up inside. The brain's words had struck a painfully raw nerve, prompting Krank to shed a tear for the first and last time in his life.

"Look!"

"And eye dropper, quick!"

Krank kept his raised to prevent the liquid from spilling as they scrambled for the needed object. Martha stepped up on a chair and gently collected the tear.

"Then the poor masterpiece became so crazed...that he believed a single teardrop could save him"

Krank looked at Irving, his eyes still glistening. Martha placed her small arm around him, trying to comfort her long-suffering husband.

"And, after committing many cruel deeds...he died a horrible death…never knowing what it is to dream"

But like an asteroid spiraling out of the sun's orbit, he was too far to feel the warmth. Comfort would not change the unyielding pain, just as their efforts had not.

"Get out! All of you get out!" Krank shouted, his abounded rage ushering them all away. His weakness was apparent enough without it being made a spectacle. When the black of his hair gave way to streaks of gray, he had sheared it off. No further signs or displays of failing would be allowed.

Irving watched as Krank made his way towards him with no worry. When the glaring being pressed the button to close the brain's only eye, his momentary satisfaction was not quelled by the new darkness he welcomed.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> New steps, old sights.

Deep down in a place beyond conscious thoughts and sentiments, it pained him to look at the abducted children (with their sight assured by his technology, the blind sect were so easily bribed). Technically, he had been created a little over a decade ago, making him not much older.. And yet by a cruel fatal whim, Krank was aging ten times the rate they were. Their bodies were so healthy, full of life and energy, while his was slowly but surely killing itself. And all because of nocturnal visits to a place that never was. The hateful envy he held made it easier to see them as little more than a means to an end. But there were times when he felt closer to them than his fellow lab results. Innocent things abandoned in an uncaring world they had not asked to be born into. Easy prey for monsters…  
Mentally, Krank closed his inner blinds. He needed to set aside such insipid nonsense and focus on the task at hand. Emotions and dreams, basic theoretical capabilities that eluded him, but was forced to go against his nature to deal with. Why isn't this working?  
The evil is in you You are their nightmare The only monster here is you After committing many cruel deeds, he died. Evil. Nightmare. Monster. Died.

 

Something rattled some of the artifacts piled in the little submarine. The container he had found earlier that day shattered onto the floor. The sound failed to awaken the man. The escaping green smoke slowly drifted towards the sleeping diver. As he breathed in the strange mist, he remembered. His eyes opened, but the vision persisted.  
He was idly examining jars of maturing fetuses, feeling troubled. His heart began to speed up to match the quickening footsteps that approached. He turned his head to see the thing of his nightmares, the tall, gaunt man with blazing black eyes, making his way towards him. Before he could get up, the thing (he knew that it only looked like a man) seized him by the throat. A woman was screaming (her name was Martha, I remember). He was hurled into a shelf; a cascade of bottles greeted him, cutting his skin in a dozen places. In desperation, he reached for a bottle and smashed it onto the thing's eye. It hurt him, but did not stop him. Struggling to hold Him at arm's length, the man he had been got out the syringe he had been keeping with him at all times, prepared to do what should have been done long ago. A bolt of pain exploded in his head (my love? why...) and he was gone. Consciousness flickered back to see he was sinking in reddening water. They had pushed him into the sea, unaware of the back-up plan he had stored beneath. The Diver laid there, shaking as the pieces of his old began to reconnect themselves.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Falling asleep, and waking up.

After so much Sisyphean struggle, there was finally a ray of light in the form of one valuable child. The fervently frightened dreams of the others had been of no use to him. But this perfect specimen's dreams were uninhibited and free of worry, free for him to use.  
"You're not at all terrified of me. You are the little boy that I need. You are my last chance." The sun of his short life was setting, but with the help of this sleeping child, Krank could turn back the clock's merciless hands. He could feel himself getting younger already.

 

"What on earth is that, Mama?" One of the Mishinkas in the control room asked, his gaze resting uneasily on the blinking sonar. "It can't be a submarine. It's going through the mines."

 

Stole my wife. Tried to end my life.

Dragging along the tank of oxygen on the ocean floor, The Diver propelled himself forward, promised perdition withstanding the pressure. Even isolated below the deep, one hears things. The Devil-man (my old treacherous friend) was taking all the children away to hell like a depraved pied piper. He knew it was all his fault, somehow his folly to correct. You took everything from me. I'll do the same for you, mark my words. His name and that of his enemy still eluded him. But as he made his way to the foundation of the towering structure, the new purpose that vengeance provided was all he needed to know as it filled his reborn world.

 

"Concentrate on my voice, Krank. You're sinking into sleep.

You're falling into the void, ever deeper. Together, we shall open a door."

Krank was drifting into induced sleep, reclined in the dreaming device's chair. Silent now, the brain watched nearby. If Irving had a face, there would have been a knowing smile stretched across it.

 

"What is it? The thing is here, Mama. In the house".  
"What do we do now?"  
Martha stood before her alarmed children, her motherly instincts conflicting with what needed to be done. "Don't panic! Are you men, yes or no?!"  
Her six children all shook their heads.

"That's enough! Inspection and report! "Being stern was never easy for her. As she sent them away, there was an odd sense of anticipation. The kind that came before a storm.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nearly there (thanks for the line, Repo)

One of the Mishinka's wandered through the hall checking storage spaces, trying to regain his usual optimism. It was probably nothing more than a cast away, one to be easily dealt with. His sanguinity left him when he opened the last drawer. "The explosives! They're gone!"

The Diver was crouched near a beam when he saw her make her way out into the open deck. The man smiled at the eagerly-awaited opportunity. He pushed the button. Firing the harpoon at such a small target was easier than he expected. It quickly made it's way through her, pinning her to a pipe. She forced my hand. He dug her grave. The diver made his way towards her.

"You…Professor." Surprised recognition flooded her pained eyes. Dominic's hair was dark with accumulated grim. His beard had grown long and scraggly. The miniscule lines of his face had deepened. There was no longer happiness in his pale eyes. Though he had changed less than Krank, he was almost unrecognizable to her. But there was no denying who he was. He was the man who had created her to be his mate. The man who was supposed to be dead.

"There's no more Professor, Martha. Only a terrible mistake that must be erased."

"Please...don't hurt him…" she murmured, blood trickling from her mouth along with her last words.

I may not be able to forgive you, but I won't lie to you.  
There was no room for sympathy in his hardened heart. The last of his love would die with her. He turned to see half a dozen identical strangers flocking behind him. 5'4, medium build, 30s but youthful, with blondish brown hair. Their blue eyes were wide with apprehension, as they looked from him to the dead woman.

"Very strange. You remind me of someone. All of you." There was something odd about them that itched of familiarity. He shook the thought aside. There was no problem with them, they were only bystanders. He focused himself again, taking off a piece from the belt of dynamite that hung off him

"Smell that? Sodium nitrate, glycerin carbonate. Run while you can! This place's going sky high!" He dashed past them, barely able to contain himself for the last of his unfolding plan.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All over, all ready

The world he shared with the boy was wavering, changing. Something was wrong. Krank was losing control of the simulated reality, getting smaller and smaller. He couldn't reach the lever, the only way out. His thoughts diminished with his body. He was an infant now, all he could do was cry. Krank was trapped in a buried memory. The creator had picked him up from the floor and placed the baby in the dream machine. The perceived event would not stop, quickening as it repeated over and over, overwhelming as to became the whole world.

An hour passed after Krank has connected himself to the child when Irving heard distant explosions. No matter, they can wait, the brain mused as he kept watch. He thought he heard a whimper. Without warning, Krank's upper body spasmed forward as far as the binding straps and helmet would allow, awake with vacant terror. This was the moment the brain had waited so long for. Irving propelled himself as close as he could, zooming his mechanical eye on the imitation's face.

"I want to see the light leave your eyes." Krank was unseeing, paralyzed in final uncomprehending fear. Irving got what he wanted as the scientist's heart stopped. Now that he had finally won this pathetic struggle, it was time to go. The brain turned around and wheeled down the corridor as the structure began to shake, leaving both the empty vessels behind.

 

"The void equals infinity!"

The man who was once the professor had strapped himself all around the base of the structure with the dynamite, laughing mad, victorious, as he awaited the explosion that would end it all. He barely noticed as the sextuplets were rowing away with a brain in a little boat, a raft of little children tied behind them. The inside bombs had all gone off, and the air rained with debris, like the papers falling all around. When he absently caught one in his hands, his manic laughter halted as he read the familiar formula of his own hand-writing.

As he read, he was struck by a bolt of enlightening as all the rest of the puzzle pieces connected to form his forgotten identity. His destructive state of mind fading away, Dominic looked around, unsure of how he got there but knowing he was going to die. As the bomb he was bound to ticked away, he looked out to see Irving and his own clones rowing away from him. Indignation gave way to panic as he called out to them.

"Come back! It's me! Your creator! I made you! I gave you life! Irving, you hear me!? I order you to come back!"

 

The desperate pleas were ignored as his creations continued to row out into the distance, out of earshot of his screams. When their former home blew, they did not look back. The refugees sailed away from their beginning to the coastal city, where the remainder of their lives stood waiting, ready to start anew.


End file.
